


Wicked Games

by theteapirate



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Closeted Character, Dirty Talk, Drugs, Infidelity, M/M, Masochism, Self-Destruction, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theteapirate/pseuds/theteapirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a prostitute. Louis is fucked-up and closeted. AU loosely based on the song "Wicked Games" by The Weeknd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Games

Louis doesn’t watch him dance, he watches him talk.   
  
He has a dark mess of curls, a sweet face, and a long lanky body that Louis wants to wrap all his limbs around.  
  
He watches Curly sidle up to the older woman at the bar and order a drink. He watches his hands move to her waist, gentle like she’s a  _lady_ and he’s courting her. Then he’s taking her to the dance floor, turning her around and kissing her neck and grinding into the small of her back.  
  
Louis isn’t watching his hips, he’s watching his mouth, that red wet sinful mouth, whispering who the fuck knows what in her ear until she’s a wanton, sweating, fucking mess. Curly takes her by the hand and they leave together, a protective hand on her neck as they maneuver their way through drunk bodies.   
  
He brushes Louis’s shoulder as he passes. Louis would’ve assumed it was an accident if it weren’t for the wink, the smile, the obvious once-over under his eyelashes, flicking his curls to the side for a better view. His hand is still on her shoulder.   
  
Louis doesn’t stay. He follows them out of the club, onto the street, and watches Curly climb into her passenger seat. His eyes remain fixed on Louis until she starts the car, disappearing around the corner.  
  
\--  
  
Three nights go by before Louis finally approaches him at the same bar. Three nights with his eyes open and his girlfriend’s arm slung over his waist, thinking of big callused hands and sweaty curls hanging over his eyes and obscenely red lips.   
  
“How much for the night?”  
  
Curly laughs, squeezing the neck of his beer and taking a giant swig. He wipes the condensation off on his pants.   
  
“You haven’t even asked me my name yet.”  
  
“You’d lie, anyways, wouldn’t you?” Louis says. He’s trying to appear braver than he is. He’s never done this before.   
  
Curly’s eyes turn serious, green glittering under the dim lights of the club. “I never lie.”  
  
“Okay, what’s your name then?” Louis licks his lips nervously.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
“Last name?”  
  
Harry raises his eyebrows. “You may be pretty, but that’s pushing it a little, don’t you think? I’ve got to maintain a little mystery in my career, don’t I?”  
  
Louis’s cheeks go pink. “I -- okay, why don’t we start over. Hi, I’m Louis Tomlinson. I’m 20 years old, I’m in school to be a drama teacher, I like boys, um, I like you, and I’ve clearly never done this before.” He offers a self-deprecating laugh, scratching the back of his neck.   
  
“I’m Harry, and I charge more than you can afford,” he smiles cheekily. Louis’s face drops.   
  
“I um,” he coughs. “Okay, I have like, $400. Is that...can that get me anything?”  
  
Harry narrows his eyes, glancing around the room darkly. “Let’s take this outside.”  
  
He takes Louis by the waist, steering him expertly through the club. Louis holds his breath until they’re outside, feeling Harry’s thumb press against his ribs.   
  
“You’re too young to be doing this,” Harry says shortly, letting go of Louis. He falls back against the wall, cold and short of breath.   
  
“I could say the same thing to you,” Louis retorts. Harry arches an eyebrow.  
  
“No, seriously. What’s wrong with you? Are you in the closet? Are you a virgin? Are you into weird, kinky shit? Are you--”  
  
“No, no, it’s nothing like that!” Louis assures him quickly. “I just...I just like you.”  
  
Harry plasters on his most charming, trusting smile, tucking a curl behind his ear. “You have a boyfriend, don’t you?”  
  
“What?” Louis sputters. “No. No-”  
  
“A girlfriend, then.”  
  
Louis pales.  
  
“Ah,” Harry smiles sympathetically, heaving a loud exhale. “Seems I’ve stumbled upon the golden ticket.”  
  
“The golden ticket to what -- the sad pathetic shitshow that is my closeted homosexuality?”  
  
Harry’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, eyes flickering over Louis’s face. He’s by the far the prettiest thing that’s ever stumbled into Harry’s professional sex life. Blue eyes, high, sharp cheekbones, a sweet mouth, a sweet voice, and hair that looked like it would feel soft and slippery between Harry’s fingers, framing the fine, angular bones of his face.   
  
“Tell you what -- you give me your $400 up front, and you get full sex.”  
  
Louis looks up, surprised. It looks pretty on him. “You -- are you serious?”  
  
Harry shrugs. “You’re cute. I don’t get cute boys like you very often.”  
  
Louis blushes, ducking his head. “Okay, um...I’ll take you to my flat, then?”  
  
“Perfect.”  
  
\--  
  
Louis’s flat is a wreck. Harry pushes him into the wall regardless, stepping over a pile of clothes to pin Louis’s wrists beside his ears.  
  
“How do you want to do this?” He breathes, nipping lightly at Louis’s neck.  
  
“Um,” Louis tries not to squeak. “Well--”  
  
“You promise you’re not a virgin?” Harry asks, pulling away to look at Louis sternly.   
  
“No, I’ve -- I’ve done stuff. I swear, Jesus, Harry, you don’t have to look so fucking intense about it. I just, like...I don’t have a lot of experience, yeah? At least not compared to you. I mean, obviously. But that’s not to say -- that’s not to say you’re like, you know--”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Louis,” Harry growls, attaching his mouth to Louis’s neck. He rips Louis’s shirt from his shoulders as he sucks bruises into his skin, mouth skimming over his throat, the elegant bow of his collarbones, the soft golden skin stretched over Louis’s shoulder. Harry’s hand works expertly at Louis’s belt, fingering open the buckle and yanking his pants down to his knees. He slides his hand under Louis’s underwear, squeezing at Louis’s cock until his head falls back against the wall, open-mouthed and panting.  
  
“Slower,” Louis gasps. Harry freezes, fixing Louis with a stare. Louis’s eyes flicker down to Harry’s hand, then back up to his face, chest heaving.  
  
“Okay,” Harry says slowly. “Let’s take this to the bedroom, then.”  
  
Louis nods, gesturing with his hands to a room down the hallway. Harry looms so close behind him that Louis can feel his breath on his neck, hot and slow, calm like this is his flat instead of Louis’s.   
  
He begins to strip as soon as they enter the room, folding his shirt neatly and putting it on Louis’s dresser.   
  
“So...you’re paying for everything but a sleepover, yeah?” Harry asks casually, leaning against the bed post. Louis sits down on the sheets, eyes tracking up Harry’s perfectly sculpted torso, biting at his lip. He nods.  
  
“And you swear you’ve fucked a man before?”  
  
Louis nods. “Once. In school. One of my best friends, actually. It was super awkward after that. And like, I guess I realized then, that I really enjoyed it, you know? But I like girls, too, I think. Maybe. I’m really not sure. And I thought too...maybe that was just a fluke, what I did with Zayn. Like maybe it was just a one time thing. But I saw you and I thought...well, I was like, immediately attracted. Like the moment I saw you,” Louis babbles.  
  
“And you have a girlfriend.”  
  
Louis clenches his jaw, rising up on his knees and grabbing Harry by the belt loop, yanking him forward to kiss him. It’s hard and brutal and full of teeth, angry and almost  _punishing_ somehow, but Harry takes Louis by the jaw and brushes his thumb under his ear, sweet and soft and holding him steady. He flicks his tongue over Louis’s, slows him down and makes him breathe, makes him take it sweetly, kissing him slow and deep until he feels Louis’s muscles loosen, his breathing ease.   
  
Harry takes Louis by the waist and lowers him onto his back, holding him by the hip. His hair hangs over his face, tickling Louis’s cheek as he drags his mouth down his jaw, under his ear, tongue tracing a vein on his neck. He kisses gently up his throat, mouth brushing over his chin before whispering, “You have to tell me how you want to do this.”  
  
He can feel Louis swallow. Harry rises up on his arms, staring down at Louis. He’s all big blue eyes and pointy little teeth, scraping against his bottom lip. “Fuck me like I’m not paying you,” he says quietly, blushing. “Like, I just want it -- I want it to feel real.”  
  
A muscle works in Harry’s jaw, and his stare hardens. He nods, once, leaning down to kiss Louis again, even gentler and sweeter than before.   
  
He fishes in his pants pocket for a condom and lube and places them on Louis’s nightstand, then steps out of his pants altogether. Louis swallows a little. Harry isn’t wearing underwear.   
  
He has the biggest dick Louis’s ever seen.  
  
“You good, man?” Harry asks curiously.   
  
Louis nods quickly, scooting up the bed so he’s closer to the headboard. Harry watches him as he slicks up his fingers, then climbs back on top of Louis, straddling his hips. His teeth sink into his lip as presses the first finger inside himself, hissing a little. Harry takes a deep breath and presses in another, throwing his head back, perhaps a little showy for Louis’s benefit. Louis just watches him, a bit awe-struck, eyes skating over the long, pale column of Harry’s throat, the way the muscles in his abdomen clench together when he curves his back, the flush in his cheeks, the flex of his strong biceps as he works his fingers into himself.   
  
Harry pulls his fingers out and stares down at him, dark-eyed, taking a firm grip at the base of Louis’s dick and spreading his thighs so he can sink down on him properly. Louis takes Harry by the hips and helps guide him down, slowly, as Harry lets out a long, slow exhale.   
  
He’s ridiculously tight. Louis begs for stamina. He pulls Harry down for a kiss once he’s fully seated, stroking his thumb over his neck when Harry pants into his mouth. He rolls his hips, rather expertly, and Louis gasps. Harry smiles against his mouth, building a rhythm, lifting himself up and down in shallow little thrusts. Louis can feel his balls tightening, and he pitches his hips up, meeting Harry’s rhythm, gathering the confidence to just  _fuck him_. Harry sits back and allows himself to be thrusted up into, and Louis bounces him on his dick until the pressure becomes so hot it’s nearly unbearable.   
  
“Harry,” he gasps, and Harry’s thighs shake a little with the strain. “I’m -- oh fuck, oh  _fuck--”_  
  
Harry deliberately clenches around him, and Louis fucking loses it. His orgasm squeezes the breath out of him, and he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, heart slamming against his ribs as he releases himself into Harry.   
  
Harry holds himself there for a minute, giving Louis a minute to catch his breath before climbing off of him. He slides off the condom, tying it off and tossing it in the bin. Harry’s hands shake a little bit when he reaches for his shirt.  
  
He’s almost got an arm in when Louis whispers, “Wait.”  
  
Harry looks up. “Yes?”  
  
“You’re um.” Louis bites his lip nervously, staring at Harry’s bobbing, half-hard dick. “You never, y’know...came.”  
  
Harry raises his eyebrows, surprised, clearing his throat. Then he smiles. “I get you off, mate.” His cheeks fold a little, and there’s something sad about it. He’s really, truly, achingly beautiful. “That’s the deal, innate?”  
  
They stare at each other awkwardly. Harry’s shirt is still only half-on.  
  
“You could fuck me,” Louis breathes, and it’s sudden. Louis raises his eyebrows like even  _he_  didn’t expect to say it.   
  
Harry inhales sharply, eyes tracing over Louis hungrily -- the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the laugh lines around his eyes, his smooth, golden skin, his belly, his thighs, his cock.   
  
“Are you paying me to fuck you?” He asks hoarsely.   
  
Louis swallows. “It’s just -- I don’t, I don’t know. If you want to. I’m...I’m offering.”  
  
“You think I want to fuck you?” Harry asks, dark-eyed. He steps closer to the bed.  
  
“I don’t -- I don’t know--”  
  
“Or do you just want me to fuck you?”  
  
Louis stares at him. Harry looms over him. He almost looks scary. His shoulders look huge and his hands look like they could swallow Louis whole. The pupils are so big that his eyes look black, and his cock, still half-hard, sort of flickers to attention. Louis’s not even sure that it will fit.   
  
“I want you to fuck me,” Louis breathes.  
  
Harry grins. Instead of taking away the scariness, it makes Louis’s heart beat even faster. He throws his shirt back on the ground and fishes in his pants pocket for another condom, sliding it on in one smooth motion and slicking himself up. Louis’s not sure he’s breathing.  
  
“How do you want me?” Harry asks tonelessly.  
  
“It’s up to you, mate, I just wanted you to get off too.”  
  
Harry gets it. He has people like Louis sometimes. People who forget that they’re paying him, people who want it to feel  _real,_ people who forget that Harry’s only there to get them off. It isn’t mutual, it isn’t genuine, it isn’t sincere, it isn’t love, it isn’t even really fucking, it’s a  _service_. It’s a game.  
  
Harry’s really fucking good at playing the game. At least this one is pretty.  
  
“Alright, turn over then, if you like.”  
  
Louis nods, somewhat jerkily, eyes flicking up to meet Harry’s nervously before rolling on to his belly, presenting his arse like some sort of offering. Harry’s jaw clenches. His bum is absolutely breathtaking -- round and smooth and an honest-to-God  _prize._ Louis’s face is turned away, cheek pressed into the pillow. His hips squirm a little, anxious, until Harry puts a hand on the small of his back, stilling him. Louis’s breath comes up sharp.  
  
He really should be up on his knees, instead of laying down, but Harry doesn’t want to ask too much of him since the situation is already so bizarre. He settles himself just behind Louis’s arse, slicking up his fingers.  
  
“Um...this might be a bit strange-feeling, just warning you,” Harry says lowly.  
  
“I’ve been fucked in the arse before, you know,” Louis snaps.   
  
Harry runs his finger over the rim. “Alright then,” he mumbles, pressing in. He feels Louis take a deep breath, arching his back so his arse pushes upwards, inviting more. Harry lets him get used to the feeling before pressing in another.   
  
“You good?”  
  
Louis nods.   
  
“Can you take one more?”  
  
“I think I’ll need it, won’t I, if I’m going to take that fucking python of yours.”  
  
So Harry gives him a third finger, encouraged by the way Louis’s rolling his hips into the bed, as if he’s trying to get more friction on his cock. Slowly, carefully, Harry replaces his fingers with his cock, feeding it to Louis in one long, smooth push.   
  
“ _Fuck,_ ” Louis whimpers, grabbing a handful of sheets. His eyes are screwed shut, panting into the pillow.   
  
“I can take it out...” Harry starts.  
  
“No, no, no, just -- move, yeah?”  
  
Harry pulls out, leaving just the tip, and promptly shoves himself back in, slamming into Louis so hard that he cries out, cheek flattened against the sheets. “More,” he whispers, and Harry obeys, leaning over Louis so his arms are braced on either side of his head. Louis makes a grab for his hand, almost pleadingly, and Harry lets himself be squeezed as his hips pick up a more ruthless rhythm. He’s draped almost entirely on top of Louis at this point, panting in the back of his neck, teeth dragging over the skin. Louis invites it wholeheartedly, curving his back to make his arse more accessible, shoving his arm under his body to get a hold of his cock.  
  
“Is it good?” Harry pants lowly, voice a rough, smoky thing in Louis’s ear.   
  
“Yes, yes, yes,” Louis babbles. “Just -- fucking -- fuck me harder--”  
  
Harry grabs Louis’s hips and tugs him backwards so he’s forced up on to his knees. He presses his hand between Louis’s shoulder blades, forcing his back into an obscene and beautiful arch. Louis’s hands scramble for purchase on the sheets, craning his neck back to look into Harry’s eyes, big and blue and utterly, utterly  _ruined._  
  
He fucks into him harder, hips snapping into his arse until there’s a ragged scream in the back of Louis’s throat, raspy and wet and  _desperate._ “Tell me I’m dirty--” Louis pants.  
  
Harry struggles not to blurt out a laugh. He bends over Louis’s back, close to his ear. “You’re so fucking  _dirty,_ Louis.”  
  
“Keep going,” Louis orders, jerking himself harder.   
  
Harry’s hips falter a little. “You’re a  _slut._ ”  
  
“You can do better than that,” Louis hisses.  
  
Before Harry knows it he’s grabbing a handful of Louis’s soft, precious hair and yanking his head back, folding a hand around his throat. He pulls Louis back so he’s standing on his knees, pressed against Harry back-to-chest. He keeps one hand on Louis’s throat and uses his other to yank Louis’s hand off his cock, forcing his arm back so it’s squeezed between his back and Harry’s hard, strong stomach.   
  
“This is what you wanted isn’t it, babe?” Harry says roughly, teeth teasing against Louis’s ear. Louis’s eyes fall closed, and he allows his head to roll back on Harry’s shoulder, wanton and fucked-out and more vulnerable than he’s ever been in his entire life.  
  
“I bet this is the first thing you thought of when you saw me, yeah? Someone to fuck you hard, until you’re nothing but a useless, slutty, fucked-out mess,” he hisses, and Louis nods, haltingly, teeth dragging over his lip. Harry’s breath is hot behind his ear, and his cock is pressed relentlessly against his prostate, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever recovered so quickly from an orgasm in his life.  
  
“How does it feel Louis?” He drags his hand down his throat, pinching his nipple and sliding down his tummy, finally grabbing Louis’s cock. He pulls himself out briefly, then shoves himself back in, stuffing Louis full. He runs his thumb over the head of Louis’s cock.  
  
“Good,” Louis gasps.  
  
He wraps his entire fist around him, pumping him slowly as he continues to thrust into him, jerking Louis’s body with every push. Louis cries out, and Harry pushes him face-first back onto the bed. Louis lands weakly on his hands, burying his face in the sheets until Harry runs his nail ever-so-lightly under the head of his cock and whispers, “What would your girlfriend think?”  
  
Louis fucking  _loses_ it, muffling his scream into the pillow as he releases himself all over Harry’s hand, coming so hard he sees spots. He collapses onto the bed, shaky and weak and absolutely _furious._  
  
“Don’t you ever mention her,” he manages weakly, going for stern and landing somewhere near bratty instead.  
  
Harry pulls out of him, struggling to steady his breath. “Who, your girlfriend?”  
  
Louis rolls onto his back and props himself up on his hands, trying to ignore the weakness in his arms. “Yeah, my fucking  _girlfriend_ \--”  
  
“Does she have a name?” Harry asks lightly.   
  
“You don’t get to know her name!” Louis bellows. Harry blinks in the shock of silence that follows, gritting his teeth. Louis ploughs forward.  
  
“You don’t get to ask about her, you don’t get to mention her, you don’t get any of it! You fucking leave her out of this!”   
  
They stare at each other, charged and dark-eyed and maybe shaking. Harry’s mouth tightens, twisting into a strange, white-lipped little frown that just makes Louis feel even more wretched.   
  
“She’s better than you,” Louis adds quietly, spitefully, and Harry just nods, tugging on his jeans and struggling into his shirt. The wad of money is lying on the dresser and Harry hesitates a moment before taking it, shoving it deep into his pockets. He bows his head at Louis with a little two-fingered salute before slipping out the door, shutting it quietly behind him.   
  
He never did get his orgasm.  
  
\--  
  
Harry makes up for it the next day. One girl pays him to suck him off and come on her face. Another girl pays him to fuck her on her balcony. A man at the club puts a pill on his tongue, pushes him to his knees and tells Harry he can’t swallow it until he’s made him come.   
  
He wakes up the next morning in a strange hotel room with the taste of vomit in the back of his throat and long scratches on his legs that fit the shape of his own hands. He crawls off the floor and into the bathroom, poking his index finger down his throat to get rid of whatever it is that’s made him feel so terrible, but nothing comes up. He stands up shakily, tugging his pants up his ankles and re-buttoning his shirt, digging in his pockets for cash. There’s none there, so he flips through the man’s wallet on the nightstand and slips the bills into his pocket.  
  
He’s chain-smoking on the bridge when Louis finds him, wearing purple smudges under his eyes and a dirty sweater. He looks homeless. Louis looks clean and crisp next to him, with his white sweater and chinos, clutching a briefcase.  
  
“Harry? Is that you?”   
  
Harry stubs out his cigarette. “Hey, mate.”  
  
Louis looks around nervously. The area’s mostly deserted.  
  
“You look like shit,” he says bluntly.  
  
Harry just nods, staring over the water, tight-lipped. “Thanks, mate.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s cool man, I know I look awful right now--”  
  
“No, I meant--” Louis cuts himself off sharply.  
  
“Yes?” Harry prods.  
  
Louis chews on the inside of his cheek, exhaling. “I meant for the other night.”  
  
Harry shrugs, blowing the ashes out into the water. “It’s fine.”  
  
“Can I buy you coffee? You look like you need it.”  
  
“Yes, please, and also,  _rude._ ”  
  
“Hey, you admitted yourself.”  
  
“True, sir.”  
  
Louis takes him to a little coffeeshop close to his flat. He buys Harry breakfast too, for good measure.   
  
“You didn’t have to do that,” Harry says quietly when Louis brings the food back to their table.   
  
“A blow job will do as payment,” Louis says, smiling cheekily. Harry looks less than amused. “Kidding, kidding--” He says, shoving a plate in Harry’s face. “Go on, take it, there’s a good lad.”   
  
Harry accepts the breakfast without uttering another word, not realizing how hungry he was until the food was right in front of him.   
  
“So, Harry, tell me about yourself--” Louis starts loudly.  
  
“Please don’t,” Harry mumbles, chasing down a bite of muffin with his coffee. He can feel Louis’s eyes burn into his cheek.  
  
They eat in awkward silence for a long moment until Louis finally asks, low and shameful, “Can I see you again later?”  
  
Harry stops chewing his eggs, fixing Louis with a stare. “My rate’s $500, you know.”  
  
Louis bites his lip. “I can manage that.”  
  
Harry wipes the crumbs off his mouth and lap, standing up from the table. “Your flat again?”  
  
Louis nods.  
  
“What time?”  
  
“Is 8 alright?”  
  
“Perfect, that way I’m guaranteed to arrive sober.” Harry takes his coffee to go. “Thanks for all this, by the way. You’ll get your blow job later.”  
  
“I was kidding about that!” Louis calls after him, but Harry has already slipped out the door, chimes jingling after him, leaving Louis to watch Harry pull his collar up against the wind, cradling his cup to his chest while he fishes in his pockets for cigarettes.

-

When Harry arrives at his flat later, he doesn’t expect Louis to shove a glass of whiskey in his hand with a “Drink up, Harold!”  
  
Harry shrugs, dumping his coat on Louis’s armrest and settling into the couch. “I’m a sex worker, you know, you don’t have to roofie me.”  
  
Louis shoots him a stern look, frowning playfully. “That was dark, Harold. I’m a nice boy.”  
  
“Yeah, alright.” Harry drinks much too quickly. Louis himself appears to already be a bit tipsy. He moves to kneel by Harry’s feet.  
  
“Can I suck you off?”  
  
Harry shrugs. “Sure.” Louis licks his lips, struggling with Harry’s buckle. His eyes widen theatrically once he finally works it open, confronted by the reality of Harry's size.   
  
“I forgot how big you are.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Never apologize for your God-given gifts, Harold.”   
  
Harry snorts and downs his drink, scrunching his nose a bit at the bitterness, and sets his glass down on the coffee table, leaning over Louis, who’s begun to enthusiastically work at his cock. It’s sloppy and unskilled and maybe even his first time. Harry pokes his thumb in the hollow Louis’s cheek makes when he sucks.   
  
Louis pulls off a little, cheeks flushed pink, eyes wild. “Make me take it,” he says, voice raspy. Harry grabs the back of his head and shoves him forward until Louis’s gagging on it, throat spasming to accommodate him.   
  
He fucks Louis’s face until tears spring to his eyes, and he stares up at Harry wetly, pleadingly, hand reaching down to work at his own cock, hard and angry-looking, leaking pre-come and curling towards his belly.  
  
Harry can feel the alcohol beginning to work in his system. He digs his fingers in Louis’s impossibly soft hair, and Louis whimpers around his cock, shooting tiny vibrations around the head of Harry’s dick.  
  
Louis pulls off, panting, then stands up quickly, staring at Harry almost studiously.   
  
“Can we take this to my room?”  
  
“Sure,” Harry nods, a bit confused.   
  
Louis sits down on the bed, rather stiffly, once they arrive in his room. Harry stands awkwardly in front of him, rock-hard and a bit fuzzy-headed.   
  
Louis, seeming to find him properly horny and buzzed enough, clears his throat, adam’s apple bobbing anxiously.  
  
He takes a deep, trembling breath before blurting: “I want you to hit me.”  
  
Harry’s brow furrows. His heartbeat roars in his ears. “What?”  
  
“I want --” Louis clears his throat. “I need you to hit me.”  
  
“I’m not going to hit you,” Harry says, with no hesitation.   
  
Louis takes a deep breath. “Please.”  
  
“I’m not going to fucking hit you. I don’t do that.”  
  
“I’m paying you.”  
  
“Then I’ll give you your money back.”  
  
Louis bites his lip.   
  
“I can pay extra.”  
  
“Oh _,_ well in  _that_ case--” Harry rolls his eyes.  
  
Louis blinks.  
  
“I was being sarcastic,” he adds belatedly.  
  
“Yeah, no, I got that,” Louis says softly. He stands up from the bed and gets up on his tip toes, kissing Harry on the cheek. Harry sighs, staring at Louis deep and concerned. Louis tilts down Harry's jaw and presses their lips together, brushing his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone until he feels his tongue finally poke at the seam of his mouth, snaking inside. They kiss like this, fragile and unsure, and Harry walks them backwards until the back of Louis’s knees hit the bed and Harry guides him down, crawling on top of him to continue the kiss.  
  
Louis runs his fingers through Harry’s curls, pulling him back to whisper, “Can you fuck me again like last time?”  
  
Harry nods against his cheek, reaching down to settle in between Louis’s spread thighs. He cups his arse, kneading a little as his lips drag down Louis’s neck, teeth grazing over his throat, settling in to work at his shoulder.  
  
“Don’t leave a mark,” Louis warns. Harry freezes.   
  
“Not five minutes ago you wanted me to  _hit you_.”  
  
“Yeah, but she wouldn’t see that.”  
  
Harry looks up at him, thoroughly confused.  
  
“My girlfriend and I. We don’t have sex,” Louis clarifies.   
  
“Then what do you do?”  
  
“That’s none of your fucking business.”  
  
Harry sucks in his cheeks. “Right. I’m sorry.”  
  
Louis pulls him in by the back of the neck to suck his tongue into his mouth. Harry allows himself to be kissed, feeling Louis push a condom into his hand.   
  
Harry sits back on his heels and slides it on. Louis watches him hungrily. “Don’t use lube.”  
  
“I can’t do that.”  
  
“Yes you can, I’m paying you.”  
  
“I don’t want to do that.”  
  
“Well, I’m sorry, but--”  
  
Harry spits on his fingers and shoves in two at once. Louis falls back against the sheets, pressing the heel of his hand against his mouth, staring up at Harry, wide-eyed.  
  
“Shut up,” Harry says. Louis nods.  
  
 _This_ is what Louis paid for.   
  
Harry works him open, his eyes never leaving Louis’s. He curls his fingers up, brushing against Louis’s prostate. He bites down on his hand, eyes pleading.   
  
“Spread your legs.”  
  
Louis spreads.   
  
“Don’t touch yourself,” Harry orders softly. Louis’s hand reluctantly relinquishes his tight grip.   
  
“Suck on your own fingers.”  
  
Something dark crosses Louis’s eyes, but he obeys.  
  
“Now finger yourself open.” Harry slides his own fingers out to accommodate Louis’s. Louis’s cock is so hard now it’s almost purple, and he can barely refrain from brushing against his balls as he presses his fingers inside, trying to reach his prostate, but it’s more of a stretch. Harry’s fingers are longer.  
  
“Tell me I’m a whore,” Louis whispers.  
  
“You’re a fucking whore.”  
  
Louis moves his fingers, adding a third before he’s ready, just for the burn.   
  
“Take them out and turn over.”  
  
Louis does as he says, rolling over onto his belly. Harry brings his hand down on his arse, much lighter than Louis wants him to. He still sucks in a breath. “Up on your knees.”  
  
Louis scrambles up onto his knees.  
  
When Harry enters him, it’s with no warning at all. He’s not even touching him, just feeding him his cock with a merciless snap of his hips, jolting Louis with every thrust.   
  
“ _Harder._ ”  
  
Harry fucks him harder.  
  
“Make me  _feel it,_ Harry,  _harder._ ”  
  
Harry shoves Louis’s face into the bed and buries his nose in the back of his neck, fucking into Louis so hard he’s afraid he might break something. Louis screams into the sheets, grabbing desperate fistfuls of them, and a tiny sob hiccups in his throat. Harry fights against every instinct to stroke his hair, kiss him sweetly, tell him he’s good. That’s not what Louis wants. Louis’s paying for punishment.  
  
“Don’t let me touch myself,” Louis orders weakly. Harry takes both of Louis’s arms and bends them roughly behind his back. Louis just tries squirming his hips into the bed but Harry doesn’t let him get enough friction, forcing his back into a steep bow. There’s sweat beading at his hairline from the exertion, hair hanging damp over his forehead as he continues to plough ruthlessly into Louis.  
  
“Tell me I’m bad.”  
  
He’s bad.  
  
“Tell me I don’t deserve her.”  
  
Harry’s hips stutter a little, discomfort writhing in his belly. “You don’t deserve her.”  
  
“Like you mean it.”  
  
He drawls it into Louis’s ear this time, leaning in close to sink his teeth brutally into the back of his neck, under his hair so it’s hidden from view. Louis sobs into the pillow, thrashing violently to get some kind of friction on his cock.   
  
“ _Please, please, please,”_ He babbles, hand fisted at his mouth like a child. A tear slips down his cheek. “ _Please_ let me come.”  
  
“Do you deserve to come?”  
  
“ _No_ ,” Louis sobs. “ _No, no, no--”_  
  
Harry reaches under Louis to squeeze at his dick anyways, and he comes literally the moment Harry makes contact, spraying his release all over his hand and the sheets with a strangled, bitten-off cry, burying his face in his forearms as his hips stutter weakly into Harry’s hand, shameful and desperate.   
  
He doesn’t move for a long time, just cries silently into the pillow with his come drying on Harry’s hand. Harry takes his hand away gingerly, not wanting to disrupt Louis.   
  
Louis buries his face into arms and sobs, deep sobs that wrack his whole body, that drain him even more than his shameful orgasm.  
  
Harry goes quietly to the bathroom and washes his hands, trying not to think about his half-hard dick. He’s hoping Louis’s sadness and the awkwardness of the situation will make it wilt altogether. When he returns to the room, Louis’s rolled onto his side. He looks almost  _painfully_ small, the notches of his spine rippling under his skin, baby hairs falling on the nape of his neck. Harry puts a careful hand on his shoulder, and Louis flinches, eyes flashing up to Harry in shock.   
  
“I’m so sorry,” he says hoarsely, throat scratchy from crying. “I’ll -- I’ll pay you extra. You shouldn’t have to deal with me, I never --” His breath hitches, and Harry feels his stomach twist. “I never meant to be such an utter fucking mess.”  
  
Harry combs his fingers through his hair. “You’re still paying me, you know.”  
  
Louis’s cheeks flush, and he closes his eyes, pressing his face into the pillow as if he wishes it would swallow him whole. “Could you lay with me then?”  
  
“I’ve got another after you.”  
  
Louis nods, biting on his knuckle. He hasn’t wiped on his cheeks. Harry leans down over Louis’s face and brushes his thumb under the eye that isn’t hidden in the pillow. Louis holds his breath, barely daring to move.  
  
“It’s not for another hour though,” Harry says quietly, folding his body behind Louis. He grabs onto Harry’s hand and squeezes.  
  
There's a long, shaky space of silence before Louis whispers, “I only wanted to be good to her,” so quiet Harry’s not even sure he’s meant to hear it. “I--”  
  
His voice breaks and he shatters, biting down on his knuckles because he just can’t quite cry hard enough. He can barely take a full breath, like someone’s got a hand on his throat.   
  
“Shhhh,” Harry breathes, pressing his lips into his hair, hushing him gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay, you’re not weak,  _you’re okay_ ,” and it doesn’t even make sense to Louis until he realizes he’s been babbling out loud through his tears.  
  
“I can’t be this person,” Louis whispers. “I can’t -- she deserves so much  _more_ than me--”   
  
His back shakes under Harry’s hands. Harry puts his chin on Louis’s shoulder and kisses the smooth skin he finds there. This isn’t the first time he’s been paid for comfort, and Louis isn’t exactly hard to hold. Louis’s soft under Harry’s lips and soft under his hands and soft in his arms and for half a second Harry almost forgets that this is a hardship.  
  
“I have to go now, Louis.”   
  
Louis just nods, curling up smaller when the warmth of Harry leaves his back. He buries himself under the covers like he means to fall asleep once Harry leaves.  
  
“I need um--” Harry coughs. “Where’s the, y’know--”  
  
Louis’s breath streams out of him, stuttering in that post-cry fizz, hiccuping and stumbling over itself in its struggle to take a lungful of air. “Top drawer.”  
  
Harry goes to the top drawer and counts through the bills.   
  
“Is that alright?” Louis asks nervously.  
  
“There’s $800 here."  
  
“I could -- I could give you more?”  
  
“I told you my normal rate was $500.”  
  
Louis swallows, sitting up so he can look Harry in the eye. “Yeah, but -- I was short last time, plus I had that...strange request--”  
  
“That I didn’t fulfill.”  
  
“Well I should’ve asked in advance.”  
  
“Yes, you should’ve. Still would’ve said no, though.”  
  
Louis bites his lip, nodding. “Right. Could you just -- take it though? I’ll feel really wretched if you don’t.”  
  
Harry just stares at him.  
  
“Consider it a tip!"  
  
Harry raises an eyebrow.  
  
“You never even got off!” Louis argues loudly. “Consider it compensation for my repeated neglect to successfully give you an orgasm!”   
  
Harry continues to look doubtful.   
  
“Oh come on! Step off the moralistic, hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold routine and take the fucking money, would you! You’re acting ridiculous,” Louis cries out.  
  
Harry finally smiles, pocketing the cash.  
  
“Maybe I was waiting for you to wipe that miserable look off your face,” he says cheekily.  
  
“Oh, come off it, you just like to make me beg,” Louis returns snappishly. Harry winks, grinning wickedly, and puts his hand on the doorknob.  
  
“Wait!” Louis calls out. “Wait. Can I -- I don’t have your number. I might need to cry on you again.”  
  
“Glad you’ve found a use for me,” Harry says lightly, scribbling his number on a notepad by Louis’s dresser. He tips an imaginary hat at Louis before slipping out the door.  
  
Louis falls back against his pillows with a sigh, stomach twisted up in knots.  
  
\--  
  
He goes a week without seeing Louis.  
  
He expects a phone call, a late night text, even another spontaneous meeting at the bridge. He doesn’t expect to see Louis’s crown of feathery hair across the bar, throwing his head back to down a shot.   
  
He isn’t Harry’s problem. Harry has his own problems -- his landlord hovering over his shoulder, the set of twin middle aged women who have been following him around begging for a threesome, the bottle of pills in his pocket that he needs to get rid of. He might be dancing on a stage. There’s a glass of JD in his hand. He doesn’t want to come down.  
  
Then Louis’s barreling into his side, laughing hot against his cheek, sharp, quick, vampire teeth dragging against his jaw.   
  
“Can I have you tonight?” Louis’s breathing. He sounds more desperate than last time. Something’s changed. Harry smells rum.   
  
“Yeah, can we make it back to yours?” Harry asks. Louis stumbles a bit, grabbing on to Harry’s arm. “Second thought -- there’s a room here that we can use.”  
  
“ _Not here,_ ” Louis hisses. That appears to have sobered him up at least a little. “People will see.”  
  
“Oh right, you’re a closeted little fellow, aren’t you. Don’t you worry, Louis, the room’s private. Discretion’s sort of in the job title, isn't it, mate?” With that said, he holds up a finger for Louis to wait while he ducks over to the front of the club to have a word with a tall man in a suit, who directs him up a flight of stairs. Harry beckons Louis over with a finger, who promptly stumbles after him. The hallway is dark and narrow, and the sounds of the club below bleed through the walls, music filtering in so only the bass is really audible, a low hum vibrating beneath the floorboards.   
  
The room Harry chooses is filled with light. Louis’s grateful for it. It’s red and stylish and comfortable, with a long leather couch and a black end table and a lock on the door.   
  
“I’ve broken it off,” Louis breathes the moment Harry shuts the door. Harry falls back against it, processing. Louis collapses on the couch, leather sighing beneath him as he makes himself small.   
  
“You’re talking about the girlfriend?”  
  
Louis nods. He plays nervously with his fringe, sweeping it across his forehead.   
  
“Need me to fuck the misery out of you, then?”  
  
Louis laughs, harsh and short. There’s an awkward silence that follows. Harry begins to take his shirt off, leaving his tangle of necklaces to lie open against his chest. Louis follows suit, throwing his clothes on the floor until he’s completely exposed. He turns over so he’s on his knees and crawls up the couch so Harry has enough room behind him.   
  
Harry finishes undressing, taking out the proper supplies and setting them on the end table. He rolls on the condom and slicks himself up, then tosses the bottle on the couch before climbing behind Louis. He pours a generous amount on his fingers and presses them in, one at a time. Louis flinches violently when Harry finds his prostate, collapsing onto his elbows.   
  
“Fuck me already,  _please_ ,” Louis begs. Harry takes little convincing. He pushes himself in slowly, carefully, but as usual it’s too gentle for Louis.  
  
“Harder.”  
  
Harry takes Louis by the hips and fucks him harder, but it’s still too clinical.   
  
“Make me take it.”  
  
He wrenches Louis’s arms behind his back, and he cries out, biting into the leather seat.   
  
“ _Harder,_ please, please, please, I need you to  _give it to me--”_    
  
Harry cuts him off, pressing his hand into the back of Louis’s neck so his mouth is smothered by the couch. He uses one hand to hold Louis’s neck and the other to cross his wrists behind his back, leaving Louis completely helpless to just  _take it,_ body jolting violently with every vicious snap of Harry’s hips. Louis muffles his cries into the couch, squirming against Harry to try to get some kind of pressure on his cock. Harry finally lets up, pulling out without warning to flip Louis onto his back then shoving himself back in. Louis throws his head back, whining and whimpering and begging into the crook of his arm as Harry throws his legs over his shoulders, continuing his brutal pace.   
  
“Tell me I’m gay,” Louis orders hoarsely.  
  
“You’re gay.”  
  
“Again.”  
  
“Louis, you’re gay.”  
  
“Make me keep going, Harry, you have to  _make me_ \--”  
  
Harry yanks his head back by the hair and buries his face in Louis’s neck, lips settling somewhere under his ear while his body is practically folded in half. “What do you love, Louis?”  
  
He feels like he’s in a ridiculous porno. “I -- I don’t know--” Louis pants.  
  
“Tell me you love cock.”  
  
“I -- I love cock.” Louis’s cheeks flush.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Louis squeezes his eyes shut as Harry buries himself deeper, tears leaking out from the relentless pressure on his prostate, an ache so good it  _hurts._ Harry kisses down his neck, moving over his cheek, hovering over his mouth to whisper, “It’s  _okay,_ Louis. It’s okay. You’re  _good,_ you’re beautiful, it’s okay to like this, you're allowed, it’s  _okay--_ ”  
  
Louis comes without his cock being touched. His eyes burn like he wants to cry.   
  
Harry pulls out of him, watching the rise and fall of Louis’s chest, delicate and yearning for breath. He climbs back into his pants, adjusting his cock, trying to ignore how hard he still is.   
  
“Tell me you love me,” Louis says quietly. He’s still naked. His come is splattered over his tummy. “I want to hear how it sounds."  
  
“I love you.”  
  
He said it. He continues to stare at Louis while he pulls on his shirt, ties his shoes, fixes his hair. Harry shuffles on his feet once he’s done. Louis turns his head to stare at Harry with a fond little sigh.   
  
“Would you say it again please?” Louis asks, dreamy and blue-eyed and wrapped up in his own blissful post-orgasmic world.  
  
“I love you, Louis.”  
  
When Louis closes his eyes, Harry bends down and takes his money from the pocket of Louis’s discarded jeans before slipping quietly out the door. He doesn’t want to ask for it.   
  
He’s afraid it would ruin the moment.


End file.
